


The Ask

by maggief



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggief/pseuds/maggief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is a journalist sent to investigate mysterious deaths in the Arctic - what does he find? Someone who's meant to be dead, and something that shouldn't be alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ask

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Arctic Adventures of Merlin Emrys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/720242) by [enviropony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony). 



> This work was written for the Reverse BB fest, although posted late (sorry!). I would like to thank [enviropony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony); for her wonderful and inspiring artwork, and for being my beta :)

Merlin woke with a start, his heart beating wildly in his chest. _It’s getting closer,_ was his first thought, and it took him a moment to get his bearings, to realise he was at home in bed, not… Not where? Snow, he thought, and? He shook his head like he was trying to get rid of cobwebs and glanced over at the clock. The stark green digits stared implacably back at him: **04:37**. With a groan he rolled over in bed, planting his face into the pillow, and went back to sleep, all thoughts of snow forgotten.

Merlin Emrys, 27, was a journalist. And not one of those cheap tabloid hacks, either - he worked for _The Times_. Although he preferred to work from home, he did still have a desk in the main office, and that was where he was headed this morning. He had a meeting with his editor, Richard Caius, and he was running late. Fighting against the tide of people coming in and out of Tower Hill tube and distracted by thoughts of coffee, he didn’t notice the tall man rushing in the opposite direction until they had collided. The man had messy brown hair down to his jawline, and he looked so familiar Merlin couldn’t help but stare, rooted to the spot. He was staring long after the man’s retreating back was lost to the crowd.

 _Caffeine, I need caffeine_ , he thought, as he shook himself out of a stupor for the second time that day. Checking his watch confirmed that he hadn’t miraculously gained an extra hour in his day, and he was still late for his meeting. No coffee this morning. He thought once again about renting a flat in one of the swanky buildings that surrounded the office, and how much time it could save him. Even if he could afford the rent, though, the thought of living so close to work was far too depressing to seriously consider.

He flashed his pass at the security guard as he entered the building, and took the lift up to the twelfth floor. Some days, when he was feeling sanctimonious, he liked to take the stairs and then brag to his colleagues about it afterwards. No time for that today though, never mind that it was the only form of exercise he ever seemed to get nowadays. He’d done running back in school, cross country, but it had petered out during his final year at uni, and had stopped pretty much altogether since. When he was first working, for his local paper, he’d still gone for runs to clear his head after a long day with fingers cramped over his keyboard. The most he did after a long day now was collapse on the sofa with a beer.

He stepped out of the lift, smiling at the receptionist seated behind the desk. There seemed to be a new one every week, and Merlin never managed to learn their names. He smiled at them regardless, though, sometimes the smiles he received in return were the only bright spot in his day. The rest of the office was depressing, a drab uniform grey interspersed by rows upon rows of cubicles. It reminded Merlin of the office in _The Matrix_ , and some days when he was running on caffeine alone, he thought that Mr Anderson would come strolling past, and his own lips would seal up just like Neo’s. Merlin didn’t like working in the office.

He dumped his bag onto his desk (fifth row, seventh along), and glanced around quickly to see if his arrival had been noticed. If Richard didn’t realise he’d arrived yet, he would still have enough time to grab a quick coffee from the machine. It was watery, and tasted like it had been mixed with piss, but it was better than nothing. Just as he had made up his mind, he heard Richard’s voice booming out across the almost silent floor.

“Emrys! My office, now.”

Merlin sighed and gave up on the dream of coffee, loping towards Caius’ office with a dejected slump to his shoulders.

Richard Caius was almost bald, with only thick tufts of grey hair above his ears left. He was nearing retirement now, although if suggested to his face that he was too old to work, Merlin didn’t fancy your chances of survival. 

“I’m sending you to Tromsø.” Richard told him, completely matter of fact, as if Merlin should know exactly what he was referring to. Was this some sort of modern interpretation of being sent to Coventry?

“Sit down, Merlin,” Richard said exasperated, as Merlin continued to hover in the doorway unsure of what was going on.

Merlin closed the door behind him and sat down obediently, as Richard carried on.

“There’s something going on.”

There’s always something going on, thought Merlin sullenly, it didn’t mean he had to go to, where? Sweden?

“Norway, Merlin,” Richard answered, as though he had read Merlin’s mind. He sighed when Merlin didn’t respond, and hit the intercom for his secretary. “Coffee please, Megan.” He clicked off before she could reply. Merlin felt like the world was suddenly a better place when the rich aroma of proper coffee wafted in, closely followed by Megan, Richard’s young, blonde secretary. Merlin was pretty sure she’d been on the reception desk last week, but he couldn’t be certain. He took the proffered cup, and just sat there warming his hands for a moment, enjoying the rich, dark smell. 

“Your last piece of work was brilliant, Merlin.” The sound of Richard’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he took a quick sip of his coffee in an attempt to hide the flush now staining his cheeks at the unexpected praise. 

“I don’t mean that drivel you write every day, although that’s all good enough and why we hired you, after all. Your exposé, I mean.” _Such sensationalist terms,_ Merlin thought, _just for writing the truth._

The report he’d written on child soldiers of the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda had been fuelled by the public interest in 2012. He’d lived in Uganda for 6 months, and the heat had been unbearable at times, choking him, filling his lungs with dust and sun. He wasn’t sure the cold of Norway would be any better. But it was what he did best, it seemed. Got under people’s skin, and revealed secrets they didn’t even know they were still keeping. It was like he could read people’s thoughts at times, knew when to keep pressing, knew when to back away, knew when he was a breath away from the scoop of his career. The air was filled with that anticipation right now; Merlin had no idea what was in Norway, only that he had to go.

“Thank you, Richard.” Merlin’s reply was heartfelt; praise from Richard Caius was always well earned. “What’s going on in Norway, then?”

“Nobody’s sure. It started last year. Do you remember when that Antarctic drilling operation failed?”

Merlin took another sip of his coffee trying to recall what Richard was talking about, it had been in the news a lot, around Christmas time last year. “Yeah, they wanted to drill into some lake? Looking for the origins of life?”

Richard nodded, “Yes, Lake Ellsworth. The official word was that the equipment failed.” He raised an eyebrow into the following silence that had Merlin on the edge of his seat.

“And unofficially?” he asked eagerly, aware that Richard wanted an audience for this tale.

“Unofficially, it was called off by the government.”

“The gov—” Merlin started to ask, but Richard cut him off.

“After the Arctic project went wrong.”

Merlin’s mind was immediately whirring at a thousand miles an hour, scouring his memory for information about this second project. “There wasn’t an Arctic project,” He eventually came up with, confusion colouring his voice.

Richard answered with a grin that would have put the cat and his cream to shame. “Well now, that’s where you’re wrong.”

* * * * *

Hours later, after an immensely satisfying pub lunch with Caius, Merlin’s eyes felt like they were full of sand, but he was still no closer to understanding what was going on. That could have been the beer talking, but that was hours ago now, and Merlin’s comprehension had not improved since he started reading. He was surrounded by a swarm of papers that Richard had given him, and barely dared move in case they suffocated him.

There were papers from the British Antarctic Survey, ACCESS, both the British and Norwegian governments, and some in Russian that Merlin had no hope of understanding. These were all stamped with a higher-level security clearance than Merlin thought the Queen might have, and he definitely didn’t need to know how Caius had gotten hold of them. Best of all were the photocopies of some handwritten papers, which looked like they had originally been torn from some sort of notebook. Even still, there were some pages missing from those, the pages that detailed just what exactly had gone wrong with the Arctic project. There was one page that made no sense; a rough sketch of an impossibly tall man, and Merlin couldn’t decipher whether it was a caricature of one of the team members, or if the writer had just gotten bored one day. That, and a million other questions were clamouring for attention in Merlin’s head and he knew the answers were only going to be found where the project itself was based, out of Tromsø. Tucked up in bed later, Merlin’s final thought before he drifted off to sleep that night was, _I’m going to need a warmer coat_.  
\------

Three days later, Merlin was at Gatwick waiting for his flight to board. For once, Richard had not entirely skimped and he wasn’t actually flying on EasyJet. Although, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure that EasyJet _flew_ to Norway, and Norwegian Air flew directly to Tromsø, which saved the possibility of Merlin having to navigate the inter-city public transport in Norway; a relief, considering he didn’t speak a word of Norwegian.

His contact in the city was a man who worked for the _Bladet Tromso_ , named Leon Sorensen. After Merlin had checked into his hotel (pretty nice actually, thanks Richard), they had arranged to meet at a coffee shop just around the corner from the _Bladet_ offices. 

The tall man in front of him, with scruffy brown hair tucked into a flat cap could only be Leon, Merlin thought.

“Hi, I’m Merlin Emrys.”

The other man took his outstretched hand, smiling. “Leon Sorensen, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Merlin replied. 

“I thought we could grab a quick coffee before heading over to the paper?”

Merlin liked the man already. “God yes, I need caffeine right now.” Leon’s rich laughter followed him in through the door.

Once they were sat at a small table in the back, steaming mugs of coffee before them, Merlin tried to ask Leon about the paperwork he had stashed away in the backpack he’d slung over his shoulder, unable to leave it in his hotel room, covered in Top Secret stickers as it was. 

Leon glanced around the almost-deserted coffee shop, shaking his head softly. “Not here,” he said, “wait until we’re in my office.”

Merlin took a sip of his still too hot coffee in response, thinking that this man was taking his paranoia a little too far – who was going to overhear them here? Why would it matter if they did?

Instead they talked about English football as they sipped their coffee, Leon dying to know what team Merlin supported and how often he went to matches. Leon was an Arsenal supporter apparently, even though he’d never even visited England. Merlin had been to exactly one football match in his life, and he’d been a year old at the time, so he hardly thought it counted. He’d tried to bluff some knowledge about the London teams as they talked, but he was pretty sure Leon saw right through him. It didn’t matter though, Leon’s English was perfect and chatting to him was easy, nice.

After several cups of sweet, strong coffee they finally headed next door to the paper offices. They didn’t even have a lift, which Merlin was sure the PC gang in the UK would have had a field day over, but Leon didn’t even mention it – just held open the door to the stairs and told Merlin to head to the 4th floor. 

Leon had his own office, of which Merlin was more than a little jealous; he cringed just thinking about his small grey cubicle. Once they were settled on either side of Leon’s desk, fresh cups of coffee in hand, Leon started talking.

“You’ve read all the information I send Richard, yes?”

“Yeah, apart from the ones in Russian.” Merlin may have blushed a little bit at that admission, but really, who spoke Russian, you know, outside of Russia?

“Ah, yes. Perhaps I should have translated those for you.”

“You speak Russian?” Merlin was surprised. How many languages did this guy know?

“That’s how I know Richard, from Moscow.” Leon raised an eyebrow in an eerie imitation of the man in question.

“Right, of course.” Merlin should have put two and two together, like any good journalist, but in truth he hadn’t questioned why a Norwegian and a Brit would be on such good terms as to be exchanging Top Secret documents. He should have thought about it, sloppy journalism wasn’t going to get him the scoop he was looking for. Merlin didn’t even bother to wonder why Richard hadn’t just translated the Russian documents for him.

Leon was speaking again. “So, what are your thoughts?”

“My thoughts?” Merlin felt a little bit like he’d turned up for an exam he’d forgotten to study for.

“What do you think is happening?” Leon’s gaze was firm, but curious, as if he really did want Merlin’s opinion on this and wasn’t just humouring him.

“I thought, maybe, gas? Some sort of gas that had been trapped under the ice, exploding?”

Leon nodded excitedly. “Yes, that’s what I thought at first.”

“At first?”

“Yes, yes,” Leon’s fingers were scrabbling through the papers strewn out across the desk. “A gas explosion could have killed the survey team. It makes sense, until you read the Fischer account.”

Merlin started leafing through his papers too. “Fischer? Which one’s that?”

“Of course!” Leon exclaimed rather too loudly, startling Merlin. He definitely did not jump out of his chair slightly, not at all. “Fischer is the Russian, so of course you think it’s gas."

“Fischer is a polar specialist, brought in to consult on the Arctic project. He’s got some close contacts in the Russian government, that much is clear from the accounts. As far as I can tell it’s someone he went to school with, but there are no other names apart from Fischer’s own mentioned.”

Merlin nodded along to Leon, trying to anticipate where he was going with this.

“Fischer’s account was suppressed by the Russians,” Leon was continuing. “It was hidden from the media, along with the whole Arctic project.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, after Leon seemed disinclined to elaborate.

Leon grimaced in response, and Merlin could tell he was reluctant to reveal the reason why he was here.

“Come on, Leon. I didn’t come all the way to Norway for a gas explosion, did I?”

Leon let out a huff of breath. “No, I guess you didn’t. Fischer’s account says that… someone came out of the ice. Or something.”

Merlin felt his jaw drop open as he sat there staring at Leon, words escaping him.

“Human? Someone alive from under the ice?”

Leon grimaced again, hand scrubbing across his rough beard. “Alive, yes. Human?” He shrugged his shoulders as though the answer was clear. They sat in silence for a long minute before Merlin made the connection.

“Wait!” he exclaimed too loudly. “A figure. That drawing in the handwritten papers – I thought it was just a mindless doodle. But it’s not?”

Leon nodded, “The other survivor.”

Merlin started at that. The documents he’d read hadn’t listed any survivors – the British documents had blamed a gas explosion for the _unfortunate deaths of all crew members_ \- they hadn’t even mentioned Fischer, let alone someone else.

“Who’s the other survivor then?”

Leon sighed. “To be honest, I don’t even know. From reading those papers they’re clearly familiar with the arctic and its environment, but there’s no name attached, and no indication anywhere else of a name. British, I’d guess, some of the abbreviations hint at a native speaker. Apart from that, I have no idea. I’ve tried to get hold of Fischer, but he’s not talking; most likely embargoed by the Russians, but he’s a dead-end regardless.”

“So what do we do?”

Leon flashed Merlin a grin. “There’s only one thing for it, we’re going out there ourselves.”

A spike of fear flashed through Merlin, quickly replaced by anticipation. This is what he lived for, this is why he'd become a journalist.

Leon was speaking again. “Tomorrow, we head out.”

They spent the rest of the morning discussing logistics, before Leon dragged Merlin out to the nearest equipment store. Merlin had failed to buy himself a better coat, and since he’d never been skiing or the like even once in his life, he didn’t have so much as a lone ski sock to his name. Jeans were not going to keep him warm in Arctic Norway.

 

\-----

Suited and booted, Merlin was up early to meet Leon the next morning. The met in the north of the town, outside a dog-sled hire shop. Merlin hadn’t realised such places existed; obviously there was no need for them in central London. Leon had explained that although most people used snowmobiles nowadays, he had been brought up with dogs and couldn’t imagine using anything different. 

Merlin had hardly slept a wink and still felt half asleep. It was late October, so while the polar night hadn’t officially set in yet, it was still dark in the morning, and the average temperature was hovering at around zero degrees celsius. _If I was water,_ Merlin thought, _I’d most likely be frozen_. His toes curled in anticipation of the cold, and he looked hopefully towards the horizon for the sun and instead caught sight of Leon striding towards him, smile plastered across his face. Trust him to be a morning person, if you could even call this unnatural darkness “morning”.

Merlin immediately rescinded all uncharitable thoughts towards Leon when he produced two thermo-flasks of coffee from inside his voluminous coat. Merlin breathed in the scent of the rich, dark drink like it was oxygen. They stood drinking their coffee in silence as the sun finally started to start its slow crawl across the sky.

“Come on then Merlin – we get to pick our own dogs!” Leon looked slightly mad with excitement, and Merlin could only shake his head and follow him inside.

In Leon’s defence, the dogs were all adorable. Merlin had always assumed himself to be a cat person – his mother had owned two cats when he was growing up and they were the most lovable and affectionate animals ever. But these dogs were so big and yet so fluffy and friendly. Merlin felt a pang of guilt at the thought of these poor dogs having to drag their sorry arses across the ice, but the enthusiasm with which the dogs bounded outside towards the sled put a stop to those thoughts – they clearly loved it, and Leon was in heaven.

“You know,” Leon began after they’d loaded up their gear and set off across the landscape, “if I hadn’t become a journalist, I would have worked in a sledding team. There’s a whole race syndicate, still a huge sport.”

Merlin glanced over at Leon as he directed the sled; it was easy to picture. He was pretty sure they didn’t normally allow sleds to go out unaccompanied by employees but Leon seemed to know the owner pretty well and they hadn’t had any problems.

“The testing site’s about two hours north of here, so I’d just enjoy the ride if I were you!” Leon shouted over the rush of the wind.

It was unlike any other mode of transport Merlin had ever used before. It was a bit like cycling, he supposed, the rhythm of the dogs like the rhythm of pedalling, but that analogy fell so far short it was laughable. 

It was exhilarating, Merlin felt like he was flying - the washed out snow-scape could have been miles beneath them. The cold bit at his exposed face, stinging and burning, but even that couldn’t detract from the pure joy of the ride. Suddenly Merlin had no desire to ever return to the cramped, dirty streets of London; why could life not always be as simple as dogs and snow?  
It was easy to tell when they reached their destination – there was a huge crater in the ground that the heavy blanket of snow did little to disguise. It looked like a meteor had struck the earth, and Merlin wondered why that hadn’t been the official story, instead of a gas explosion. As they disembarked from the sled, Leon tending to the dogs, Merlin spotted the remains of a small, squat building. The steel and concrete were tangled and twisted like crumpled paper and Merlin knew there was no way anything as simple as a gas explosion could have caused that much damage. It looked like the aftermath of nuclear war.

Merlin pulled out his camera and started taking shots, but stopped just short of the edge of the crater.

“Is it safe?” he called back, turning to find Leon right behind him, wincing at Merlin’s shout.

Leon held a Geiger counter in one hand, and a gas detector in the other. The former was giving off a series of slow clicks, several seconds apart.

“Is that normal?” Merlin asked, eyeing the small machine warily.

“Yeah, a couple of clicks is pretty standard. In terms of the crater, we’re on the ice sheet now, not tundra so it’s possibly not safe to walk on, but let’s take a look.” Leon didn’t wait for Merlin’s confirmation before he slid down into the crater. Standing on the bottom the lip of crater was just below shoulder height, but nothing seemed amiss so Merlin followed him down.

As soon as Leon took his first step, the Geiger counter went mad, going off at more than one click a second. Leon looked at it in alarm before stepping back towards the edge and holding the counter out across the normal ice. The noise slowed down, back to the steady clicks of a moment before.

Merlin stared at Leon for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and heading gingerly towards the centre of the crater, camera at the ready. Leon followed, the Geiger clicking furiously in his hand. The level of radiation it was indicating was bad news, but it wouldn’t kill them instantly, so Merlin figured it was ok to continue – it was what they’d come here to investigate, after all.

In the centre of the crater the counter stopped dead. No clicks, no sound at all. Both men glanced down at it, and Leon shook it to check if it was broken. A lone click echoed forlornly across the ice. 

“It is broken?” Merlin asked?

“I don’t think so,” Leon replied, shaking it again. “There’s no trace of gas here, either, so at least we know that explanation is a lie.”

“Not really a surprise, but good to know.” Merlin added cheerfully as he lifted his camera up to his face again. The inside of the crater was completely nondescript; it could have been dug by a JCB for all the clues it offered. Merlin was turned to ask Leon if he wanted to head over to the remains of the shack, when he saw a figure in the distance.

At first he thought it was a man, and wondered who else would be out here. Then he realised it was far too tall to be a man, and moving impossibly fast, faster than they’d been moving by sled.

“Leon.”

Leon hummed in reply, engrossed with writing something in his notebook.

“Leon!” Merlin repeated more urgently. “There’s something coming.”

Leon looked up sharply at that, eyes quickly turning to where Merlin was looking. Leon said something under his breath in Norwegian that Merlin could only imagine was a swear word.

“We need to go.”

Merlin didn’t need telling twice, and swiftly headed towards the edge of the crater. He didn’t make it though; nor did Leon. The figure was within throwing distance now, but Merlin still couldn’t make out its features, its face. He felt himself fall to his knees.

It seemed like the whole world had gone dark, but Merlin was sure they’d still had at least an hour’s daylight left. He felt like he was underwater, movements slow and sluggish as he tried to climb to his feet again, and he couldn’t move away from the figure approaching him. His breath was trapped in his throat, as if his lungs had frozen solid like the ice all around them.

 _We are going to die_ , he thought frantically. Whatever had killed the team was still here, this was it.

Then suddenly light filled his senses, so bright and so hot it felt like Merlin’s eyeballs were burning and yet he refused to close his eyes, fearful still of the darkness the creature had brought with it. As he stared the light coalesced into the shape of a man wielding a burning torch in front of him like a sword. 

The figure, the creature, shied away from the flames, a deep rumbling growl coming from its lips. Merlin thought it was about to attack regardless of the fire, but then it turned and fled, its footsteps making no sound in the snow.

The only noise in the silence was the soft crackling of the burning torch, and the harsh ragged breathing of the three men.

The stranger walked over to where Merlin lay sprawled near the edge of the crater, and Merlin shielded his eyes from the bright light of the fire. The man behind the flames looked tall and broad-shouldered, although he was wrapped in so many layers that he could have been as scrawny as a schoolboy. His fur hood obscured his face, but he held out a gloved hand towards Merlin, hauling him to his feet when Merlin took it, and then repeating the gesture with Leon.

“We need to get out of here now, before it returns.”

Merlin and Leon shared a look, but neither of them spoke, both still too gobsmacked for words. What the hell had just happened?

“Have you got dogs? A sled?”

“Who are you?” Merlin blurted out, although he had been meaning to say “Yes”.

A look flashed across the other man’s face, and if Merlin could have read his mind at that moment, he would have sworn the stranger was apologising for his lack of manners. This suspicion was practically confirmed when he held out his hand, which Merlin shook warily, followed by Leon.

“I’m Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Merlin Emrys, this is Leon Sorensen. Nice to meet—“ Merlin trailed off mid-sentence as his brain caught up with his mouth. “The Arthur Pendragon?” he asked quickly. “The famous polar explorer?” Arthur nodded, and opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin continued instead. “You’re meant to be missing, people think you’re—“ … _dead_ , Merlin wanted to say, but he clearly wasn’t.

Arthur flashed Merlin a wry grin. “Well, rumours of my demise are unfounded, no thanks to the Russian government, I can tell you.” That grin again, cocky yet disarming. 

“So have you got snowmobiles? A sled?”

Merlin could only stare. He wouldn’t say Pendragon had been a hero of his, but he’d watched the man’s documentary, read his book and, although he’d never admit this out loud, he may or may not have featured in several of Merlin’s more adventurous wank fantasies. He’d been sad to hear of his death when it had been reported in the media a couple of years ago, although apparently that sadness had been wasted.

“Yeah, some dogs. Just over this way,” Leon replied, gesturing.

“Great, let’s go.”

\-----

There seemed to be no question that Arthur was joining them on their sled, and they spent the whole journey back to Tromsø in complete silence as the sun set faster than Merlin would have liked. Even the dogs seemed muted.

Earlier in the day, Merlin had wondered why they would bother returning to Tromsø at the end of the day – Arctic explorers camped out all the time, how hard could it be? Now he wanted nothing more than a heavy, bolted door between himself and the outside world. It seemed that Leon and Arthur both agreed with him, although Merlin was sure Arthur couldn’t have been living in Tromsø all this time without being recognised. 

They returned the dogs and sled to the hire shop, saying nothing of their encounter, and ensconced themselves in the corner of a local bar. Underneath all the layers, Arthur was as tall and strong as Merlin remembered from seeing him on TV. His hair was a soft, golden blond, shaggy around his ears and in desperate need of a cut. 

They each drank a full bottle of beer before anyone spoke. Finally, Merlin asked the question that they all seemed to be avoiding. “What was that?”

Arthur took a long draught of his new beer before replying. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve been calling it…” he paused, trying to gauge their reactions, “I’ve been calling it the Ask.”

The name meant nothing to Merlin, but Leon, who up until that moment had been staring silently into his drink, sat up sharply, gaze fixed on Arthur. The tension was thick between the two men, although Merlin couldn’t understand why.

“What am I missing here?”

For a heavy moment neither Arthur nor Leon spoke before the latter broke their stare, confusion colouring his tone. “The Ask is the first human in Norse mythology.”

Merlin glanced at Arthur for confirmation but he was studiously ignoring Merlin’s questioning look. 

“Fairy stories?” Merlin scoffed derisively.

“No.” Arthur’s tone was sharp, reprimanding. “Did that feel like a fairy story to you?”

Merlin shook his head mutely. Of course it hadn’t. Not the nice kind anyway, although Merlin couldn't help but remember that the Grimm fairy tales hadn’t all had happy endings.

“Myth is _meant_ to be a narrative about how the world was formed; it’s about gods and heroes. I don’t know what that thing really is, but it feels old. Biblically old. The Ask was the first thing that popped into my head and it stuck.”

Leon nodded in agreement, like Arthur was merely discussing the weather.

“I felt it too.” Leon said, voice rough. “You wrote the handwritten pages.” It was a statement, not a question and Merlin started – he hadn’t connected those dots yet.

Arthur nodded regardless.

“Can it be killed?” There was a dark look in Leon’s eyes, and Merlin had a feeling he’d known what they’d been hunting all along.

“Yes—“ Arthur was about to say something further before he turned to look at Leon more intently. “What do you know?”

“I know that children have been going missing, stolen from their beds at night, a trace of radiation left in their wake. I know this has been written about before, hundreds of years ago. I know it was driven away with magic.”

“Magic.” Arthur’s tone was speculative, but there was a knowing glint in his eye as he turned to survey Merlin, and all Merlin could think was _he knows_ , but how could he? How could Arthur take one look at him and already know all the secrets in his soul?

He’d never told anyone the way that things sometimes moved, propelled by nothing more than an errant thought from Merlin’s mind. He’d never told anyone the way he could create fire in the palm of his hand. _Magic_. Had Richard known somehow; was that why he’d been chosen for this job? Not to investigate but to fight?

The idea seemed ridiculous but Arthur was still watching him and Merlin felt like his skin was too tight, the room too hot. He coughed nervously.

“What do you mean by magic?” he whispered.

Arthur stayed silent for a beat. “It doesn’t like fire, as you saw today. But it’s not enough. Normal fire can only scare it, but won’t harm it. I’ve read the old accounts you mentioned, Leon. Only fire created by magic can destroy it.”

Merlin sucked in a quick breath, eyes darting between the two men. They already knew, they had to, even though it was impossible. And somehow, that made it easier for Merlin to finally spill his secret.

That night, when they’d returned to his hotel, Merlin didn’t even question Arthur as he followed Merlin to his room, and the door had barely clicked shut behind them when Arthur’s lips were upon his, demanding and yet gentle.

“Do you—“ Arthur began to ask, but Merlin merely dragged him in for another kiss.

Merlin didn’t stop to ask any questions, and reached up to start removing Arthur’s clothes, the many layers taking far too long, the word yes falling breathlessly from his lips.

He was gasping, desperate as Arthur pushed him down onto the bed, mouthing kisses into Merlin’s neck. They didn’t have any condoms, or lube, but Merlin couldn’t find it within himself to care. Arthur took his time preparing Merlin, tongue hot and wet around Merlin’s rim, fingers stretching him open, until he was obscene with spit. It would hurt the next day, but Merlin didn’t care, Merlin craved that reminder.

As Arthur seated himself inside Merlin, his fingers gripped Merlin’s hips hard enough to bruise, belying his calm demeanour. His breathing was quick, ragged, his sweat-slicked body sliding against Merlin’s back as he folded himself down to bite at Merlin’s neck. It wasn’t long before his rhythm faltered and Merlin could feel Arthur’s hot come filling him, sending his own orgasm crashing through his body.

Well, Merlin thought, if he was going to die fighting this thing tomorrow, this was one hell of a last night. Later, as he fell asleep next to the warm calm of Arthur, Merlin’s head was filled with thoughts of how unrecognisable his life had so suddenly become.

\------

They had a late lie-in the next morning. Arthur had explained that it was best to head out once night had fallen – the Ask felt more comfortable in the darkness, and fire would have more effect then.

Merlin felt restless as they waited, unable to sit still or concentrate on the book he was feebly trying to read. Luckily, the daylight hours were already truncated, and it felt like minutes past lunchtime when Arthur finally told him to get ready.

As they headed out to the sled hire shop and Leon got the dogs ready, Merlin surreptitiously flexed his palm, opening and closing it in rapid succession. With each unfurling, a small flame appeared, and with each closing it was extinguished. He could do this.

Soon the three of them were aboard the sled and as the city lights faded behind them, Merlin thought he could see another light in the distance; was there another town out here? He was certain it had been dark by the time they'd arrived back in Tromsø last night, but surely the sky had been nothing like this? He would have noticed, wouldn’t he?

As the darkness thickened around them, and the light ahead became brighter, he finally realised what he was seeing.

The landscape ahead was painted in swirling shades of green and gold like a surrealist painting, like the birth of a star. It felt like he was in space, and they were floating amongst the aurora, bathing in the green light of the gods. _Gods and heroes_ , Arthur had said, and it was so easy to believe him now.

The test site was almost unrecognisable in the ethereal light, but the heavy tension in the air was hard to miss. _It knew they were coming_. They tied up the dogs securely a safe distance away and headed the last few hundred metres towards the crater on foot. Stepping down inside, they headed straight for the centre and stood back to back surveying to landscape around them. Arthur lit the pitch-torches he’d brought with them and handed one to Leon. Merlin’s hands were left empty: he could make his own fire.

Arthur spotted it first; the impossibly tall figure moving too-fast across the ice and snow. Merlin took several deep, steadying breaths and called the fire into his hands - ready, waiting.

The Ask circled the crater as it approached, looking for their weak spot, and when it finally dropped down into the crater, that was the moment to act.

“NOW!” Arthur shouted, a battle cry into the darkness, and Merlin let loose his first fireball.

The creature shrieked in response, but didn’t back away, and Merlin shot fireball after fireball at it, until its cries filled the night.

It wasn’t enough, though. The fire that Merlin could produce was too weak, too ineffectual. He could hurt the Ask, but he couldn’t kill it. Merlin wanted to cry, and he screamed aloud, an incoherent roar. They were going to die out here. For a long second afterwards, Merlin felt like he’d gone deaf as all sound around him ceased, and then an answering roar was heard high up in the sky.

Merlin glanced up as his fire was joined by a stream of flames from above.

_Holy fuck, is that a dragon?_  


The creature above circled the creature below, and the three men backed towards the edge of the crater, away from the Ask. The dragon (a dragon?!) rained hell down on the creature, and its screams of pain became more and more anguished, until the Ask fell silent.

Finally daring to turn their backs on the Ask, the three men crawled out of the crater onto the ground beyond and lay panting on the snow as the sound of large, leathery wings receded into the night. 

“Was that--?” Merlin asked, before Arthur cut him off.

“Let’s not. I just want to lie here.”

So they did. They lay there staring at the sea of green above them, Arthur’s gloved hand resting over Merlin’s, until the cold at their backs became too much to bear and the dogs began barking in the distance.

Then they stood up and headed home, taking care not to glance at the charred remains of something they still couldn’t explain. Merlin had no idea what he was going to tell Richard when he returned to England, or what the hell he was going to include in his article. He’d worry about that later. All he wanted to think about now was a nice cold beer and the soft slide of Arthur’s skin against his own.

Their spirits were high once they were back in the light and safety of Tromsø, and Merlin was delighted to find that the aurora was visible even above the glow of the city lights. Things had gone well that night, and the world felt good.

\------ 

But a seed has been planted, and a tree will grow. In the darkness a question is Asked, but what is the Answer?

**Author's Note:**

> Caius is pronounced like keys, and is an (obvious) nod to Gaius, but I felt like the antiquated name didn't work so well in this setting. Thanks for reading :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Arctic Adventures of Merlin Emrys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/720242) by [enviropony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony)




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